You Just May Be The One
by Lily Rose-Petals
Summary: A Mike and Peter romance, with Monkee awesomeness from all four. A four-part story. Rated M.
1. Part One

**You Just May Be The One**

**Summary:** A Mike and Peter romance, with Monkee awesomeness from all four.

**Author's Note: **Hey! Well this is my second fan fiction for this site and I am honestly proud of myself. I'm sorry, I truly am, though, for what you're about to read. No silly, light-hearted show should be bastardized in this way. Except I guess I'm not _that_ sorry because I wrote and published it anyway. But seriously, these guys were begging for some smut. Oh yeah, there's smut. If you don't like, don't read, and if you specifically don't want to see Mike and Peter getting it on, then definitely don't read...

The title is also the title of the Monkees' song "You Just May Be The One." I thought if fit Peter and Mike very nicely. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or settings in this story, I only claim ownership for the words and ideas I've presented.

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><p><strong>Part One<strong>

The first time Mike kissed Peter they were standing in the bathroom of the flat the four Monkees shared. To be precise, Peter had just finished combing his hair after his morning shower and Mike was leaning against the open door frame eating a slice of buttered toast. Strange as it may seem, this situation (minus the kiss) was actually how almost every day at 1334 Beechwood Drive started for these two occupants.

Peter was the first to rise in the mornings, being, inexplicably, a morning person. He would make his way out of his bed, over the blanket Micky had invariably kicked onto the floor during the night, and through the bedroom door without waking anyone. He was always very good at this, which was surprising, for Peter. Davy and Micky were _not_ morning people and hated to be woken by any noise. (In the early days of living together Peter used to make a great deal of noise upon rising, although no one knew how he possibly could; but now he was very good at keeping quiet.)

Every morning Mike would lay in bed, rolling over and over until he felt himself properly awake; then he would sit up, rub his eyes, untangle his blankets from around himself— sometimes he would fall over on Micky and that was always dreadful— but not this morning— and would head out the same way Peter had done, usually throwing Micky's blanket at the foot of his bed.

It wasn't that Mike was following Peter, not exactly. It was just that he was a day person. No, not a morning person, nor a night person. He just liked being awake during the day, and as the beginning of the day started after the first person got up, it was then, after Peter had risen, that his day began. (Sometimes, after a late-night gig, the boys would sleep late into the afternoon. Mike would still only rise after someone else got up first, unless he just couldn't take lying in bed anymore. It was just how his mind worked.)

But the Monkees hadn't had a gig in three days and so on this particular morning the day started at 8:12 am, sharp, for Mike. Instead of going to the bathroom upon rising, Mike always went down to the kitchen and made himself some toast. It mattered not whether he needed to use the restroom because Peter was already in there drying off from his shower by then, and Mike was distinctly uncomfortable going into the bathroom to take a leak while a naked Peter Tork dried off beside him. Certain things he felt for Peter and his body might become a bit too obvious then.

This morning Mike followed his usual routine of toasting bread, buttering it, and taking a bite as he headed over to the bathroom that was right off the kitchen to wait for a pee and a shower. (The date of this morning was October 2, 1971, in case anyone cares.)

Whenever Mike got to the bathroom door he would knock, and in a moment or two Peter would open it, usually while brushing his teeth, to let him lean against the door frame and await his turn. Sometimes Peter would already have the door open, and this meant he had already brushed his teeth and was fussily combing his hair. Peter always had to make sure it was perfectly straight and neat before he left the bathroom, wearing a plush red bathrobe, to dress and make breakfast.

As Mike had not taken a particularly long time making his toast this morning, he came to the bathroom door while it was still closed. He knocked, Peter answered, and Mike leaned. As usual, Peter wore his red bathrobe and was busily brushing his teeth. Mike used to wonder why Peter was so fussy about his morning routine until the thought occurred to him a couple weeks back that maybe one of the only things Peter was truly good at was his personal appearance, and therefore it was important to him to do it well. After that realization Mike stopped the little jibes he sometimes made to Peter when he took too long and he felt himself grow impatient.

However, this morning it was not necessary for Mike to remind himself to be nice, to be patient, as he was in a relaxed mood. Three days of doing nothing had put him in an easygoing mood instead of an agitated one, which Mike attributed to the rent on the apartment being paid up two months in advance.

Instead he stood at the door, watching Peter comb his hair, now, and he was ashamed of himself for realizing that he had the way in which Peter combed his hair practically memorized. Damn, but he had his whole routine memorized. But this did not deter him from talking, as he was in a good mood, and he said,

"Peter?"

"Hmm, what, Mike?" Peter replied absently. _Stroke, stroke_, went the comb.

"Why do you always part your hair on the left side?"

Mike took a bite of toast.

"Well, why should I part my hair anywhere else?" _Stroke, stroke, swipe_.

"Oh, well, I don't know, my Aunt Kate always told me it was better to part your hair in a different place every once in a while, just to keep off dandruff and the like."

Peter continued combing his hair methodically. Mike took another bite of toast.

"Why would your Aunt Kate want me to part my hair differently? We only met once and she didn't seem to mind it then," he said after a moment. _Swish_. His hair was parted.

"What...?" He swallowed his toast. It took a second for Mike to realize what Peter was thinking. "Oh, no, not you, Pete... Just people in general, you know..."

"Oh, okay, well next time you see her be sure to let her know I parted my hair on the _right _side." Peter looked at Mike intently in the mirror.

"But...you didn't part your hair on the right side. It's on the left, as usual."

Peter fingered his hair fussily.

"Yes, but by the time you see her again I'll have had time to part it on the right side, won't I?"

Mike just looked at Peter. It was one of those moments where Peter was surprisingly astute, and Mike didn't know what to say, partly due to the fact that Peter turned his head and looked right at him with his innocent brown eyes, in complete sincerity, as if what he said was the most logical thing in the world.

"Yes. Yes, well, yeah, that makes p-perfect sense." Oh god, did he just stutter? Whatever for? For those wide brown eyes and curvaceous pink lips? Oh, god, he _didn't_ just think the word _curvaceous_, did he? No, certainly not. _Pull yourself together, Mike_, he thought sternly. He really shouldn't be having these thoughts this early in the morning.

To his great chagrin and embarrassment, in the second it took for him to think those thoughts and refocus on Peter, he found that Peter was still looking at him.

"Are you...okay?" Peter asked, since Mike was sure he was blushing, and for no reason, as far as Peter knew.

"Er, yeah, I'm just..."—Peter was still looking at him! His brain searched wildly— "hot."

That was the best answer he could think of, but it was also the wrong word for him to say. He felt his cheeks flame once more and his heart race like a boy who had his first crush. This was _weird_. His relaxed stance of moments before was rigid, Peter's brow was starting to crinkle, and Mike just stood with the toast forgotten in his hand. God, he was stupid. How could a few simple words put him in this predicament?

And suddenly his agony was over, much to his relief and, surprisingly, his disappointment. Peter looked away, seeming to believe his answer, and fussed with his hair for a moment. He rested his hands on the sink counter and looked at himself, as he always did before leaving the bathroom, and said,

"I guess it is a bit warm in this bathroom."

Mike was somehow surprised to hear him talk so calmly. Hadn't he felt it, the electric current that ran between them when their eyes met? Was it only Mike who felt the almost overwhelming desire to kiss the other one, to shove him back into the bathroom, against the sink, and work on making the bathroom even hotter? But with a cold chill down his spine Mike mentally slapped himself back to reality. No, no, Peter did not reciprocate his feelings; only _he_ wanted these things.

Peter flicked his eyes hesitantly to Mike in the mirror and then turned in an unsure way toward him in the doorway. His brow was a little wrinkled; he was confused by Mike's body language, by his flaming cheeks and jumbled expression. Mike wildly hoped for one second that Peter was mulling over his confused feelings for him and then crushed the hope in the same second.

And then, because Peter still stood there and because he couldn't control himself, his thoughts were back on hope for Peter's affection, of the months they had lived together, how long they seemed while Mike looked at Peter with longing and Peter seemed oblivious to his desire. Mike even dropped hints sometimes, so subtle that a mouse couldn't have picked them. But hope, unbidden, bloomed in his chest every time he did so, hope that Peter would somehow pick up that he wanted more than just friendship.

Hadn't Peter and he sometimes had moments of sexual tension, where they paused for a moment, not daring to look at each other, and then mumbling something they had moved away to their separate business?

What about the time in the kitchen when Peter had come downstairs after his shower and teeth-brushing and hair-combing and had made breakfast for Mike and himself, because Mike had gotten up uncharacteristically late?

Or that time when Davy had been out on a date and Micky, Peter, and he had been sitting in the living room having a jam session, and Mike had absentmindedly placed his hand on Peter's knee to reach over and grab god-knows-what? And when Mike realized what he was doing and had glanced quickly at Peter he found Peter staring at his hand in an intent, unfocused sort of way?

_What about those moments? _What about all those other times he couldn't even list?

Peter seemed to know he was thinking of something important because he stood quietly and waited for Mike to speak. If Peter had had pockets in his robe Mike was sure he would have stuffed his hands in them and waited patiently. Wonderful, wonderful Peter. Always so patient; so tolerant of criticism; so unaware of things everyone else knew; so understanding of things others did not understand.

What was he going to say to him? Because Mike felt he could not back out of this situation he had created, however inadvertently. How long would he wait until he told Peter how he felt? But at the same time, how could he rock the boat at a time when the band was grooving so well, gigs were coming steadily, and money was available for need as well as for leisure?

How could he risk breaking up the group for his own wants? How could he lose his dearest friends, Micky and Davy, if they decided to repel him from themselves when they found out what he was? But surely, surely he knew them better than that, they were true friends... He felt miserable at the prospect of losing them; he felt joyous at the prospect of gaining Peter as something more than a friend.

There was nowhere to go but forward.

"Peter..." he started. "Peter, can I...? I need to say something, I need to let you...um, I don't know... Oh hell."

Peter still stood looking at him, his expression unreadable.

Mike looked at the bathroom door, thinking hard. What the hell _was _he going to say? _Peter, I love you_?_I want you to be my lover_? Mike snorted out loud at the word, but internally felt it was the right word to use. _Peter, I hope you can understand my carnal desire for you, but even if you are repulsed by me can we please fuck like bunnies? _But that certainly wasn't the right thing to say, because that did not cover everything he felt for the other man, not even close, although at the moment it covered about three-fourths of it...

"Mike?" Peter said tentatively, and Mike looked up suddenly; now his own brow was crinkled.

"What?" he said, too abruptly, which made Peter looked flustered and confused.

"Are you...are you going to let me pass?" He seemed at a loss for what to say.

What? Mike looked at Peter for a moment, and a single wicked thought slid into his brain and nestled next to his left ear.

"No. No I'm not," Mike said, sounding surprisingly calm to his own ears, sudden resolve coming to him.

"Er, why not?" Peter said uneasily.

Mike didn't like him to sound uneasy; it's not what he wanted for this moment at all.

"Because I want you right here, where we always start our day," Mike said, as if that statement was supposed to make sense to Peter in and of itself. To Mike it did.

"Why?" Peter asked.

"Because," Mike said, and kissed him.

Peter's lips were as soft and pliable as Mike had imagined them. Shit, but his lips parted easily for his tongue. Mike wasted no time in exploring Peter, however it may alarm him, because this may be the one and only time he could ever kiss him. Peter did not resist, which Mike did not register at first, but let Mike guide the back of his head with the hand that had thoughtlessly dropped its burden of cold toast.

Peter thought Mike tasted wonderfully of butter and bread. He always did love watching Mike eat his toast, and now he knew, as if he'd always known, that it was because he had secretly wanted to taste it on his lips and maybe even tongue for so long he couldn't even remember when he'd started wanting to.

And then Mike pulled away and his lips made a a sort of suction-y noise that sounded very erotic to Peter, as if they didn't want to leave his mouth as much as he didn't want them to leave.

Mike was instantly three feet away from Peter, his eyes wide and lips pressed firm, waiting. Peter stood with his mouth agape (or so it felt) and his eyes just as wide. Mike opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again. His eyes less wide, he looked nervously from side to side, making sure neither Micky or Davy had happened upon them. He was now out of the bathroom, in the sitting area, with the little round table behind him. He seemed shocked by his own action.

"You kissed me," Peter said.

"You didn't resist!" Mike shot back hurriedly, as if in self-defense.

The two stood awkwardly for a drawn-out time that probably only lasted a few seconds. Mike shifted nervously from foot to foot. He somehow couldn't bring himself to say what he had been planning to say before the kiss had happened. He was _such_ a fool. The words wouldn't come, they were lodged in his throat with his heart, blocked by a kiss that tasted like mint.

Suddenly Mike jumped about a foot in the air as he heard the floorboards creak upstairs. He knew it was Micky because Davy was almost always the last to get up. He stared up at the landing as if he expected a monster to emerge from behind the bedroom door.

But it was only Micky who came out, looking tousled and sleepy, yawning. As he made his way down the steps, Mike darted toward the kitchenette. He must've seemed suspicious of something because Micky gave him a confused look, watched him open the fridge, and turned toward Peter who was at the bathroom door.

"What's up with him? And why are you still in the bathroom? Man, your shower ended, like, ten minutes ago. Not even you take that long."

"Uh, I don't know... Uh..." was all Peter could manage for Micky's benefit. He took a step toward the kitchenette and then thought better of it, hurrying up the stairs and for the bedroom to get dressed.

Micky just looked after him, feeling like he was missing something, before heading to the bathroom for a shower.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So, in case anyone was wondering, in this story's universe the Monkees really are a struggling band living in an apartment and getting up to antics along the way. There is no TV show about them. It was way too confusing writing as if they were themselves acting like their characters on the show, or whatever the case. You see what I mean.

I hope you liked it and please review!


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Peter got dressed in three minutes and rushed downstairs to find Mike in the kitchen darting around, pretending to be busy. This was silly of Mike to do, in Peter's opinion, because Peter was always the one who made breakfast and so no one was going to believe that Mike was _actually_ making breakfast and therefore think he was busy and _not_ ignoring Peter. But Peter kept this thought to himself and stood behind the breakfast table watching Mike run about until he couldn't find any pretense for doing so anymore.

Finally, when the last item was taken out of the refrigerator (Mike didn't seem to know he had taken every single thing out of the fridge and freezer in his haste, even the ice cube trays), he stood across from Pete with his hands flat on the breakfast table, bent over as if he were weary. Silence reigned in the tiny kitchen— kitchenette, really— while Mike stood, too conflicted to speak.

"Peter, I'm sorry I did that," he said finally. His voice was firm, but he was looking at a point on the floor somewhere beyond the tiny table.

Peter didn't say anything. He didn't realize how anxious his silence made Mike until the other man looked up at him, right in the eyes, quizzical and worried.

"Oh," Peter began, realizing he should say something. "I didn't mind." He glanced away to look at Mike's left shoulder.

Mike appeared to be dumbstruck, and straightening up looked at Peter for a good two seconds before saying, "You— didn't?"

"Well, I thought it was pleasant, you know. Kissing is nice. The tongue bit was very nice. The taste was nice. Butter is so good-tasting; and bread, very nice stuff..."

Peter seemed to have run out of niceties as he continued to look, unfocused, at Mike's left shoulder, which was all very well with Mike because he was about to interrupt anyway.

"So, you liked it then? We are talking about the same thing, right?"

Peter suddenly looked worried that they were _not_ talking about the same thing after all, and looked at Mike again.

"Aren't we talking about kissing at the bathroom door? I mean, us two, between us, I thought it was clear..."

"Peter...Peter," Mike closed his eyes and shook his head once. "I was just saying that because...it was a figure of speech, okay? Or something like that. Yes, that is what I'm...referring to."

Peter seemed relieved and smiled brightly, a very Peter-ish quality that Mike quite adored.

"Oh, well yes, then, I'm glad we know what we're talking about. I had wondered for a while...you know... I don't know, whether there was some... You know," Peter finished shyly.

"Peter." Mike could hardly believe what he was hearing. "So it wasn't just me, then?" he said suddenly. He was honestly surprised.

"What wasn't just you?"

"That felt it!"

"Felt what?"

"Peter! _It_! You know, the— the _tension_!"

"Mike, I have no idea what you're talking about. If we wanted tension we would have to stretch a rope between us, tie it very tight, and—"

"_Peter_! Are you—? Really? _That's so dumb!_ Sexual tension, I'm talking about _sexual tension_!" he hissed the last, suddenly aware the bathroom door wasn't all that soundproof.

"Oh, oh right!" Peter said quickly. Mike was relieved he understood without any more explanation. "Yes, I've felt that. I like it. I feel tingly when it happens," he said with a foppish smile.

"Yeah, it's very nice," Mike said, shifting agitatedly. He'd just heard Micky's shower stop. "Peter, this really isn't the place to talk about this, we need somewhere more private..."

Peter looked over at the bathroom door too, his brow crinkled. He seemed to be thinking the same things that Mike had been worrying about.

"I see what you mean. We should probably put away all this stuff before going anywhere, though."

"What?"

"And Micky and Davy will want breakfast, I'm sure."

Mike looked around.

"Did I do all this?"

"Yeah, while you were pretending to be busy."

"Well, I guess you can't make breakfast with this mess. I guess we should put it away. Oh look!" He pointed at the ice cube trays.

"Yeah, I saw that," Peter said, moving around the table toward the trays. He put them in the freezer as Micky opened the bathroom door and came out in a bathrobe. With only a cursory glance toward them before heading for the stairs, Micky asked,

"What happened with the fridge? Is everything rotten?"

"No, nothing but you," Mike replied, grabbing eggs and the still mostly-frozen French toast.

"Oh very funny. I'll go kick Davy. Or do you want a shower first, Mike? Is Peter making breakfast?" he asked, his voice trailing away up on the landing.

Mike didn't answer and was about to stuff the French toast in the freezer when he remembered he wanted to eat it instead. Peter was in the refrigerator section, organizing the various jars and cartons to make room for bread and garlic. (No one knew why they had garlic on hand, as none of them liked it. Peter once voiced the theory it was in case vampires came by, to which they all replied, "Isn't that dumb?")

Mike handed Peter items when the latter held out his hand behind himself until all were in the fridge. The last item Peter received was a bag of grapes.

"Wait, Mike, these really are rotten," he declared and handed them back to Mike, who on an impulse dug the pad of his thumb into Peter's palm while taking the bag. Peter glanced at Mike and gave the impression of liking it, but Mike took the grapes and dropped Peter's hand, glancing away as if indifferent, when noises of Davy's awakening came from upstairs. Scuffling noises came with the voices.

"All right, all right, damn! You do realize it's only 8:45 in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, but we have a gig tonight and—"

"—'tonight' being the key word—"

"—_and_ practice makes perfect, so get in the shower!" Micky bossed, effectively driving Davy downstairs. It helped that he was right on his heels. "I know you have somewhere you want to go, so we better practice now. Peter's making breakfast."

"Doesn't he always?" Davy said grumpily while closing the bathroom door.

Micky had dressed in the time Peter and Mike had put away the refrigerator items but had left his wildly curly hair uncombed. Micky was usually lazy about his hair unless the Monkees had a gig right away, which Mike supposed was unfathomable to Peter.

Peter prepared breakfast and Mike helped until Davy finished his shower. Micky then made a feeble offer to help but was happy enough to return to strumming on his guitar when Peter said he didn't need him. Micky was not very good at domestics, while it seemed to be one of Peter's fortes.

Mike left to get in the shower while Davy dressed (Davy always took a long time) and by the time he was done and going to the bedroom to dress Davy was heading back toward the bathroom to finish his morning routine, which consisted of a close shave and blow-drying his hair. (The others had long ago stopped snickering at the sound of the hair dryer. After taking the Micky out of Davy for a month after first hearing the dryer, the boys stopped because Davy wasn't.)

Meanwhile, Peter made scrambled eggs with tomatoes and the French toast Mike wanted. As they were out of orange juice and, now, grapes, Peter placed the milk carton on the breakfast table and threw a pack of dried apricots next to it.

By 9:15 breakfast was ready. Davy had finished with his grooming regime and he appeared at the breakfast table at 9:21 with fluffy hair. Mike had already dressed and come down five minutes ago. The boys were almost done eating their first helpings, so Davy got a serving twice as large as their firsts to make up for his belatedness.

As for Peter and Mike, they made the mistake of sitting next to each other at the round table. Not much table could've come between them anyhow as it was so small, but having their knees hit constantly was causing both men a small amount of agitation. The nattering of Micky and Davy and their own occasional need to interject a comment wasn't distracting either one from the tautness between them. Urgency to get away from the other two was at a paramount by the time the short meal was over, but as Micky and Davy were quite oblivious to their discomfort they thought it was a good idea to practice for the gig since, as Davy put it, "I'm already awake anyway."

Peter put away the breakfast food and piled the dishes in the sink while the other three made minor rearrangements to the small stage in the apartment's alcove. The Monkees practiced for nearly an hour. Mike felt the tension in his body leave him as he played and sang; he always felt most relaxed when he was performing. Both he and Peter were relaxing in the jam session when, at 10:30, Davy declared he had a date to get to. ("At ten in the morning?" Mike said.) He went upstairs to check his appearance and was out the door in five minutes.

Micky was happy to stop practice to strum on his guitar and watch Saturday morning cartoons. He said practice made his voice hurt, but he only said this on Saturdays. Gigs on Saturday night were his least favorite even though they brought in the most money: He hated having to practice through the morning cartoons.

Peter said he was just going to go upstairs, then, and Mike was about to be disappointed when he realized that Peter was looking at Micky to gauge his reaction. Micky grunted but otherwise could have not heard him at all: He was too busy strumming his guitar and watching _The Funky Phantom_.

Peter walked slowly up the spiral staircase. Mike piddled around the kitchen sink, putting some space between his and Peter's departures from the living room. He couldn't seem _too_ eager to follow Peter, even if Micky wasn't paying attention. He knew that Davy and Micky would eventually get to the dishes and so left them untouched, although he reckoned his loitering would be more plausible if he was actually doing something. Still, Mike only fidgeted for a few minutes and then bounded up the staircase.

Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, Mike headed immediately for the bedroom. It was the only truly private place in the apartment besides the bathroom, and he figured Peter wouldn't want to talk and hopefully do _other things_ in the bathroom. He carefully opened the door so it wouldn't creak and peered around. Peter was laying on his own bed, trying to relax, with a magazine in his hands.

He immediately sat up and put down the magazine. He looked nervous. Mike closed the door behind himself and paced to the center of the room.

"Mike..." Peter began, and he truly sounded nervous. For some inexplicable reason, a surge of arousal went through Mike.

"Peter." Mike just wanted to say his name. As much as he wanted to explain his feelings for him, and ask how long he had felt the same, and find out about Peter's experience as a gay man...he really just wanted Peter to touch him right now. "Come 'ere."

Peter swallowed and rose unsteadily. He almost tottered across the room under Mike's intense gaze. He stopped a little less than a foot away and searched Mike's face. He was so unsure of what to do, whether he should kiss him or just say something.

Mike reached out a hand and almost placed it on the side of Peter's face, to brush his hair back, but the moment of tenderness was lost in Mike's desire: Instead he latched on to Peter's collar and dragged his face a centimeter from his own, keeping eye contact. Peter tentatively placed a hand on Mike's chest and that was all it took for Mike to kiss him.

This time Mike didn't try to insert his tongue right away but kissed with his lips. He wanted to feel the fullness of Peter's lips between his own and find out how the other man liked to kiss before deepening it.

Peter grasped Mike's elbow, the elbow of the arm still holding onto his collar, and ran his hand up toward the shoulder. At the same time Mike wrapped his hand around the nape of Peter's neck, through his soft, fine hair and tilted his head a little. It was what he had done earlier. But Peter didn't seem to like it and he disconnected their lips long enough to tilt his head another way.

So that's how he liked it.

The two stood in this embrace for what seemed an eternity, desperately cleaving to each other's mouths. Mike thought kissing someone had never felt so good. Although hesitant, Peter seemed to want Mike as much as Mike wanted him. And then Peter slid his hands down Mike's torso, to his hips, which he grasped and pressed his own against.

"_Peter_...!" Mike gasped, and pulled him around to land on his bed. But they didn't exactly land on the bed, more like halfway off it, and the two slid to the floor with a _clunk_ from Peter's foot. Peter's chest was heaving and he was looking up at Mike, who was straddling him and looking at the door in hopes that Micky hadn't heard.

A moment passed and neither one heard anything from below. Mike turned back to Peter and took in his heaving chest and tousled blonde hair. He set himself on him again. The treat that was Peter was too good to resist.

Peter gladly accepted Mike's hot, open-mouthed kiss. He ran his hands over Mike's chest and sides and pushed his fingers under the edge of his pants while Mike explored his mouth with his tongue. He scraped his nails over Mike's back and massaged his hands over his ribs. Honestly, he couldn't get enough of touching Mike. He was just thinking how he really wanted to grab Mike's ass when Mike distracted him by breaking lip contact and pulling him up on the bed by his own. Mike laid directly on top of him and ground his pelvis into Peter's. Peter seemed to like that very much as his eyes glazed over with lust.

Mike smiled, pleased with himself, and latched onto Peter's neck while continuing to grind his pelvis into Peter's. Peter yelped as Mike nipped a little too roughly in his haste at the sensitive skin under his jaw and Mike made sure to be more careful a centimeter lower. Peter made a noise in his throat at the gentler attention and his hips moved upward involuntarily. Mike ground back and licked in the dip of Peter's collar bone. He started fumbling with his shirt.

Mike gave Peter's collar a quick kiss before ripping his fingers through the buttons of his plaid shirt. He had to see his chest; he'd seen it before, on occasion, but had never been allowed to ogle it as he was going to do now. He got Peter's shirt open and Mike slid to his knees on the floor, pulling Peter to a sitting position with him, and pushed the sleeves off his shoulders. For a modest guy, Peter was muscled and tanned in a way even the most imaginative could not expect. Or maybe that was only in Mike's eyes.

His pectoral muscles were covered in only a smattering of light blonde hair; the rest of his torso was bare except where his pubic hair started at the bottom. His rosy nipples were erect. Mike took it all in and wasted no time in pushing the shirt all the way off Pete's arms. His arms were gorgeous as well; a slightly bulging vein ran along the inside of his right forearm and Mike ran his palm over it. Peter, who had been watching Mike with lust and fascination, said,

"This really does it for you, doesn't it?"

"What?" Mike asked, flicking his eyes to meet Peter's.

"The chest, the arms, that's what you like. You can't get enough," and Mike thought he detected a hint of pleasure in his voice.

"Yeah...and the hands," Mike said, and looked down at Peter's hands which lay on his knees. He ran his fingers between the ridges of his knuckles and then laced his fingers with Peter's to bring his hands up so they could be palm to palm.

Where Peter's hands were broad Mike's were narrow in comparison; where Peter's fingers were thick and long, Mike's were thinner and longer. Mike had always supposed he had fairly attractive hands, but now he could not be sure Peter thought so at all. He looked at Peter between their interlocked hands and found that he was rubbing his fingers on the back of Mike's hands as they were intertwined. He supposed Peter, at least, didn't mind his hands.

"I want to see you too," Peter stated.

Mike hesitated and then loosed his hands and rose from his knees; Peter rose also.

"I don't think I'm as attractive as you," Mike said, trying not to sound uncertain. He had never been so paranoid about his chest in his life.

"I don't think I'll mind," Peter replied.

Mike fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt; Peter took the initiative. He started from the bottom and undid all the buttons. When he reached the top he took his index finger and ran it down between the opening of the shirt, stopping at Mike's naval to go right and slip the finger under the cloth of the pants by his hip.

Mike was slightly breathless. He now took his own shirt off, tugging it off his elbows, and let Peter look. Peter did not move his hand from Mike's hip but scanned over Mike's chest with his eyes. Mike had an ectomorphic body type— he was very lean and thin. His ribs were slightly visible even though he certainly ate enough and his pectorals had a nice shape to them although they were not particularly muscular. His nipples were dark and also erect, with some hair around them that extended across his sternum. His pubic trail started just above his belly button and went down in a thin black line.

Peter leaned in and kissed Mike's neck, returning Mike's earlier attention. He kissed his collar bone and tilted Mike's head to lick by his left ear. Mike sighed against him as he nibbled on the soft skin by his jaw. He switched to the other side of Mike's neck, kissing his chin on the way. He gave a long lick across his Adam's apple and the stubble on his neck. Mike hadn't shaved this morning.

His ear brushed against Mike's sideburn as he raised his head again to kiss his lower lip. Mike's hands were on Peter's hips and Peter still hadn't moved his forefinger from under the edge of Mike's pants, but was rubbing the skin there expectantly.

Mike kissed Peter and pulled him closer to his body. Their tongues flirted together and the kiss was heating up when Peter made an effort to pull away. He paused, regaining his breath.

"Mike, I've never done this before," he whispered eventually against the other's lips. He locked his eyes on Mike's.

Mike was silent for a moment.

"You mean...you're a virgin? Or...?"

"I mean...I've never been with a man, before, like this."

"Peter. How..." Mike pulled away a little, his hands still on Peter's hips. Peter's finger moved nervously against Mike's hip. "Haven't you...? Have you been with women?" A sudden flood of panic filled Mike. "You aren't putting me on, are you?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I mean, are you not really gay?"

"Well, no."

"What?" Mike took a step back, removing his hands. "What are we doing here then?" he said with a hint of desperation in his voice.

"I... What do you mean? I like you, I want to—"

"But you're not gay? I don't understand. Is this— is this just an experiment to you?"

"No! I want you. I— Mike, I don't understand what you're worried about."

"Well, I don't get it. Are you straight?"

"Um, no. I mean, I don't know. I mean, I try to be, but I've always felt attraction to men. But I like women too! Women are very nice. But men...there's something about men too. Does that help?" Peter asked, confused.

"So...you like both. Okay. I guess that makes sense. I don't know." Mike ran a hand over his hair. He paused for a while.

"But you really are attracted to men?" he asked as if to clarify. _And to me_, he added silently.

"Well, yeah! I don't understand how you don't get that. I'm all over you," Peter said, and then blushed, flipping his hair down over his forehead.

Mike huffed a laugh, evidently relieved. "You're cute." Peter blushed more. "Do you want to...move to my bed?" Mike suggested after a moment.

Peter smiled and laughed a little. "Okay, but Micky's still downstairs."

"Oh, shit, yeah," Mike said suddenly, turning toward the door. He had practically forgotten about him. "Too bad the door doesn't lock."

"Are we going to tell them, though? Sometime? Because I don't think..." he hesitated at Mike's look, "I don't think we can't _not_ tell them, you know? If we're going to...be together?"

Mike seemed to ignore these questions and strode to the door and peeked out. He crept out to the railing, made sure Micky was still watching cartoons, and slid back into the bedroom.

"Peter, no one knows I'm gay, not even my parents. I don't know if— I don't know if Davy and Micky would accept us. We're all guys, you know? It'll make them uncomfortable, it always happens with other guys. Do you get what I'm saying?" he asked at the look on Peter's face.

"Yeah, I get it," he sighed. He sat on his bed. "I guess that's why I've never admitted to anyone that I like guys. I just...Micky and Davy are my best friends, you know?" Mike nodded. "I don't want to lie to them, I wish they could..."

Peter trailed off and rested his head in his hands. He sat quietly. Mike came and sat by him and Peter raised his head. Mike understood what he was feeling. Was this the first time he'd thought about this? Mike couldn't really fathom how this could be, but he sat without saying anything.

After a moment he kissed Peter's shoulder. Peter turned his head and Mike looked him in the eyes and then kissed him softly. He kissed him again and Peter turned his torso toward him more.

Peter kissed Mike and didn't stop. Mike pulled him farther onto the bed, on top of himself. He kissed Peter in a more thoughtful, less heated way. Peter placed his hands under Mike's shoulder blades and pulled him up, kneading his back with his fingers. Peter straddled Mike and Mike gripped his waist.

"Are we going to have sex?" Peter murmured against his mouth.

"Oh, that was smooth Peter. Way to build suspense."

"Mike...I've never been with a man before."

Mike realized what he was saying as he started to speak again.

"What do you do? I can't imagine, well... I can't imagine." He didn't want to say it.

"Peter, are you talking about...you know...?"

"Y-yeah. That. Does it feel good? How can it feel good?"

"Yeah, it can feel good. It _does_ feel good. After the first time. Everything's a bit...tight, the first time."

"Oh. Oh dear." And then, "Mike? Is the...you know...is it like...sex with a woman?"

Mike laughed. "Peter, I don't know. I've never been with a woman."

"You haven't?" Peter was surprised. "But I thought... I thought you would've been, to pretend you're straight, or something. How did you find men to sleep with?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"Bars. Gay bars. Clubs. The gas station." He laughed slightly.

"Really, gas stations? I didn't know gay men went to gas stations. I mean, I've never seen them there."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Peter, you wouldn't know if they were gay just by looking at them, not necessarily. You just get to talking... —Hey, it's just like meeting a girl, and you chat her up. Except with a guy you have to drop little hints about what you're after and be flirty without really being flirty, you know? And if he doesn't pick up on that then you're screwed— or, you know, not."

"Hm. Okay. Well, I've never flirted with a man before. Not on purpose anyway. I guess this would explain some things that have happened to me..."

Mike laughed again and kissed him. Peter responded eagerly. He obviously wanted more but Mike felt uncomfortable.

"Peter, we can't do this right now. Not when Micky could catch us so easily."

Peter ignored him and kissed beside his mouth. "Yeah, I know. But you're the one who started it. Honestly, what did you expect? This is all very thrilling to me, you know. First time and everything."

"Yes." Mike let out a long breath through his lips. "I know. I'm sorry I started this right now, I really _did _want to talk. I just got carried away. But...we can't do anything more right now. We need privacy. We need... This apartment to ourselves!" he said obstinately. Peter laughed because Mike's tone and expression implied that it was all Micky's fault, that he was being very rude, by sticking around and not letting him and Peter get it on.

"You're cute," Peter said, and kissed him. "Let's wait till tonight after the gig. I know, I know, I don't want to wait that long either, but think about it. Davy and Micky will want to go to an after-party, pick up some chicks. Normally I would find a chick with them—" he hastily went on at the look on Mike's face, "— but not tonight, of course! Not for a long time." He smiled. Mike smiled back, understanding as best he could. "I just think we should _pretend_ to find some chicks, then leave them when Micky and Davy are preoccupied with their own and...scuttle off here. What do you think?'

"That's the best idea you've ever had," Mike said sincerely.

"Thank you," Peter smiled. "And of course no one _ever_ claims dibs on bringing a girl back _here_, we're three beds short of being the Seven Dwarfs; how awkward would that be to explain?"

"_Oh_, so that's why I never see any of you here when I come back without a partner," Mike laughed, playfully, and flipped Peter onto his back to lay on top of him again. Mike kissed him and Peter's hands latched onto his hair. Peter laughed into his mouth.

Of course the four had discussed in great detail the strangeness of four men sharing one bedroom when they'd first started living together. It had quickly been realized that no one was ever going to want to bring a girl back here, so if one of them didn't get a date they wouldn't have to worry about walking in on anyone else.

As far as Peter and Mike were concerned, this situation was perfect.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I have to mention the cartoon Micky was watching. _The Funky Phantom_ was a seventeen-episode cartoon that aired in 1971. Incidentally, while looking up cartoons for Micky to watch, I came across this one, in which Micky Dolenz was a voice actor. How awesome is that? I just had to include it.

Please review!


	3. Part Three

**Warning:** Explicit smut in this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

The gig went great. The Monkees played for a college graduation party at a local nightclub where chicks were hot and the booze was free, or at least it was for the band. The Monkees were becoming pretty well-known in Malibu and therefore the happy-go-lucky college grads who had hired them told them they could have all the booze they wanted for free, to compensate for their somewhat low payment, if they made the party a "raging success" and stayed until one a.m. ("Sorry, man, but college made us broke," one of the graduates had told them.)

The Monkees were on top of their game that night, what with the prospect of unlimited booze and rampant sex, and the band got all that it was promised. Peter and Mike had different sexual partners in mind than did Micky and Davy, but the prospect of sex was just as potent to them; everything they played, sang, or did felt ten times better than usual.

Davy had just finished singing "Valeree" and was thanking the crowd for it's great response when one o'clock rolled around. With a whoop Davy declared that it was time to _really_ get the party started and, taking off his shirt, dove into the crowd. The crowd screamed, being made mostly of girls (who had enjoyed watching the pretty boys sing and play), and soon Davy could no longer be seen.

Micky bounded off the stage and was also soon surrounded by girls who couldn't seem to stop touching him. He grinned at Peter and Mike, gave a thumbs up and mouthed, _These are hot!_ before turning back to the many girls wanting his attention.

Still more girls were eyeing Peter and Mike, who were putting away the band equipment on-stage. The Monkees couldn't risk losing any equipment to the wild crowd, so the two had generously offered to pack it up and take it back to the apartment in the Monkeemobile. It gave them an easy way out of having to pretend to talk to girls for appearance's sake which Peter hadn't thought of when he first concocted a plan.

Peter and Mike had even had the foresight to specifically say that one of them would would be using the Monkeemobile tonight. Mike had said he or Peter would take it to a girl's house and would bring the equipment back in the morning, while the other would ride to a girl's apartment in her car; that way each one would get to their destination and keep the equipment safe. Of course, Mike and Peter had no intention of doing any such thing, but there was no need to mention that.

Micky and Davy, of course, would each go home with a girl and catch a taxi in the morning. This routine had been decided early on in living together, as the one car provided only one of them with transportation, and the boys had unanimously agreed that no one wanted to drive around with a hangover the next morning picking up the other three Monkees from their one-night stands.

What Peter and Mike did not count on in their getaway plan was the persistence of the girls who wanted their masculine attention. They managed to get all the equipment to the Monkeemobile without much interruption and were discussing where they had put the keys when four girls came out of the club, grabbed a hand each, and dragged the boys back inside.

Mike and Peter could hardly resist and were soon back in the club being squashed by dancing bodies. Music now played from the record the disc jockey had put on. Soon they were separated as two girls dragged Peter off one way and Mike another.

_Shit, shit, shit_, Mike thought. The plan was not going as he wanted. Who knew girls would want them so badly? Mike just caught sight of Peter's head over the crowd and then he bobbed back down. The girls were leading him to the center of the dance floor; one let go of his hand and broke away. The other girl, a brunette, smiled at him and pulled him close.

"So you're one of the Monkees, eh?" she said, moving in rhythm to the music.

"Yeah," Mike said, thinking this was pretty obvious.

"You found anyone worth seeing tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah actually." Mike jumped at his chance. "I need to get to hi— her." Mike hoped the girl had not heard his slip up. He was not enjoying dancing with her; she was unoriginal in her pick up and was not even the type of girl with whom he would like to be friends.

"Well, I was kind of hoping you were thinking about seeing me, tonight," she said, smiling in a way she evidently thought was seductive. Mike resisted rolling his eyes and wondered how Peter was faring.

The two girls that had led Peter away had ditched him when more attractive, or 'manly' men, Peter supposed, had appeared. Peter was relieved and a little offended but was soon stopped by a red head with a husky voice.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said. "You lookin' for someone?"

"Er, yeah," Peter said. He really hoped she wasn't going to try to flirt with him because he already felt irritated by the girls dragging him away and then insulted because they hadn't even looked at him before attaching themselves to other men. Was he so unattractive?

"Who're you looking for, honey?"

Peter really looked at the redhead now. Her voice and manner of speaking gave one the impression she was older than she was, but actually she was in her twenties, as were most of the girls in the club, and Peter realized that her voice was not husky from smoking, but was that way naturally. She wore a tight-fitting black dress and had a pleasingly curvaceous frame. Peter mentally noted that she was the type of woman he would go for if he was into women right now.

"I was looking...for a friend," Peter faltered. He didn't know what to say. Was she trying to flirt?

"Ah. What type of friend? You lookin' to get laid tonight?"

Peter raised his eyebrows at her baldness but said, "It's a guy friend, actually. We need to get out of here."

"You need to get out of here?" she repeated. "Look, man, you just finished playing. You can have some fun."

"Yeah, but..."

"Are you going home with this friend?"

"What?"

"Are you going home with him?"

"Er, yeah... I mean..."

Peter felt flustered, like the redhead could see right through him. Her darkly-outlined eyes seemed to assess him and then she said,

"Yeah, I get it," as if Peter had asked her something. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, he got dragged away by a couple chicks..."

"Okay, I'll go find him. What's he look like?"

Peter described Mike briefly. He made sure to include that Mike was wearing his green hat.

"What's his name?"

"Mike."

"What's your name?"

"Peter."

"You stay here," she said, and disappeared into the crowd.

Peter felt confused but did as he was told. She seemed to be helping him, although he had no idea why.

Ten minutes passed and Peter felt antsy. Five girls had come up to him, trying to flirt, and had walked away when he was short with them. No more girls seemed to want to try him, and he was feeling especially impatient when he saw the redhead weaving her way through the crowd, leading Mike by the hand. Mike looked somewhat perturbed but unresisting.

"Here you go," the redhead announced when she had reached him. "Had to pry this clingy brunette girl off him, but I got him in the end."

"Er, thanks. But why'd you do it?" He had to know.

"Why not? I do it for my girlfriends all the time. You seemed desperate. My girlfriends are constantly being chatted up by these pervy guys and I just step in and separate them, lead him away, and make my escape. It's easy."

"Well, thanks... What is your name?"

She made a noise of derision in her throat, presumably for her own name, but said, "Jillian."

"Nice meeting you Jillian— and thanks, thanks a lot."

"Yeah, thanks," Mike put in, shaking her hand.

"No problem. See you guys around," she said, and walked away.

"Nice chick," Mike commented.

"Yeah...she just came out of the blue and said she'd help me find you. What did she say to you?"

"'Hey Mike, Peter's looking for you, I can show you to him,' like she knew me. It was crazy. But she seems cool."

"Yeah..." Peter said.

"You wanna go?"

"Yeah. Micky and Davy have girls yet?"

"I think so, but I don't know. Haven't caught a glimpse of either one since they left the stage."

Peter blew out his breath through his lips. "Well, we should be good. And they always find dates if they really want to, we don't really have to find out if they've got rides, do we?" he asked rhetorically. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Even with Peter's obvious eagerness to get home, the car ride was strangely silent. Peter anxiously twiddled his thumbs; he was afraid they'd lost the chemistry they'd had earlier. Mike seemed tense and distracted, and he muttered under his breath at the other drivers they encountered.<p>

After a few minutes of consideration, Peter placed his hand on Mike's knee and rubbed the inside of his thigh. Mike massaged the back of Peter's hand and seemed to like the attention, but was distracted nonetheless.

Mike parked the Monkeemobile under the tarp canopy the boys had set up in the driveway and locked the car's doors to protect the equipment. Then he and Peter bounded up the steps to the hallway and made their way to the apartment. The keys in Mike's hand jingled in the lock and the door opened. Mike and Peter entered and Mike threw the keys on the coffee table while Peter switched on a light.

Mike seemed agitated about something.

"Mike, what is it? Why are you so tense?"

Mike fidgeted for a second and said, "I don't know. I don't know. I'm just worried, I guess, that...that you're not going to want to...do this anymore. Be..." he seemed to struggle over the words, "...with me. You sent the chick to get me, I thought... I don't know what I thought."

"I didn't send her to get you, she went by herself. She volunteered. And...would it be a bad thing if I had sent her to get you?"

"No. I'm just being stupid. I'm worrying about nothing. I don't know what's the matter with me." He sighed and sat on the couch. Peter sat beside him.

"Maybe you're just nervous? I'm nervous. I mean, we're both so anxious to get it on but we've just found out how each other feels. Trust me, I want you I'm sure at least as much as you want me. But...oh my god, I'm tired," he said, yawning hugely.

"Oh my god, me too," Mike said in a relieved voice. "I don't know why I thought we'd have enough energy for sex after playing a gig." He yawned. "Must've been my lusty brain talking." He yawned again.

"You wanna sleep? I know we could miss our opportunity to be alone," Peter said, as Mike wanted to cut in, "but really, how are we going to do this while we're exhausted?"

"Peter, you're so sensible it's disgusting sometimes." Mike paused and then said, "You wanna sleep in the same bed while Micky and Davy aren't here?" The flirty Mike smile was on his face, Peter was glad to see.

"I don't think we'll both fit. But yeah," he said, not really caring. "Come on."

He quickly switched the light back off; Mike grumbled about not being able to see to which Peter replied it would be weird if they left it on. He grabbed Mike's hand and together they headed up the spiral staircase.

"Your ass looks great in these pants," Mike said as they walked up.

"Oh, you can see it?" Peter said play-snarkily. Then: "Thanks." Smile. "Yours does too."

"Peter, I'm not in your pants. But you know I want to be," Mike smirked.

"Brat," Peter said, and hit him lightly on the head with his free hand.

"Gorgeous thing," Mike shot back.

"Mike, don't start. Which bed?" They had just entered the bedroom, and Mike closed the door out of habit. Moonlight shone on the floor from the one window.

"Yours, as we made out on my bed earlier, it only seems fair." Mike slipped his shoes off and flopped down on Peter's bed.

"Okay. Now bunch up, I'm not going to be able to fit with you like that."

"Egh, come here."

Peter slipped his shoes off and cuddled up next to Mike, pulling his hat off. Then he pulled the blanket around them both so they were facing each other.

"We're still in our clothes."

"What, haven't you ever slept in your clothes before?"

"Well, no, not after a gig. But I like it this way," Peter smiled.

"'The better to undress you, my dear,'" Mike said in his best Grandmother imitation.

"Mike, don't do that, that's wrong. It's her granny."

"Sorry. You know what I meant."

Mike kissed him and Peter relaxed into his arms. Then he sighed and his whole form seemed to melt to the bed.

"Mmm, you're right, too much—" yawn, "—right now. See you in a few hours, Pete."

"Mmhm," Peter replied, nuzzling against Mike's arm.

Mike ran his fingers through Peter's hair and soon the two were asleep, content that the other would be there when he awoke.

* * *

><p>Some time later, Peter awoke to find it was still dark outside and Mike was still asleep. He quietly slipped out of bed and went to take a pee. When he got back Mike had sprawled out on the bed, but when he tried to slip quietly back in Mike made a noise and ran his fingers through his hair.<p>

"Hey," he murmured, "I got cold without you."

"That fast? Wow." Peter formed himself to Mike's side, his head on Mike's chest, and pulled the blanket back around them.

"How you feeling?"

"Better. Better rested. Comfortably warm. Did you want to know all that?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Mike said, huffing a laugh. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, you look, you can see the clock better."

Mike raised up a little to look at the digital clock across the room.

"It's nearly five. We've been asleep for almost three hours."

"Mmm, very nice." He ran his hand along Mike's stomach and chest. "That's a good nap."

"Yes, yes it is," he said, as Peter kissed his side and continued to rub his chest. "Do you want something, Peter?" he asked mildly.

"Mm, maybe. I don't know. I could just go back to sleep," he teased.

"Ah, there's no need. 'I'm awake anyway,' as Davy says."

"Mmm, yes, he does say that. He's right too," Peter said, kissing Mike's side again. Then he stopped his movements and laid against Mike's side, seemingly content with what he'd done.

"What, stop now? I was beginning to like that," Mike teased back.

"Oh, what, this?" Peter said, raising himself to kiss Mike's chest several times.

"You know, this would be better without the shirt, I think."

"Yes, you should take it off," Peter agreed.

Mike quickly undid the red eight-buttonshirt he had worn for the gig and Peter kissed his sternum.

"Much better," Peter murmured, kissing his pectorals, taking a nipple gently between his teeth. He sucked gently, causing Mike to arch into him and fondle the back of his neck.

"Peter...do the other one," Mike said a bit breathily.

Peter moved to suck the other one and continued to massage the one he'd left with his hand.

"Down— down my stomach," Mike requested, and Peter obeyed. At least this was something he was used to doing with girls.

He licked inside his naval and continued to trail his tongue in Mike's pubic trail down to his pants. Then he kissed back up, alternating between sides, ending with sucking on Mike's left nipple.

"You are wicked, purely wicked," Mike breathed, and pulled him up for a kiss.

Mike's kiss was intense and Peter quickly deepened it. Mike's tongue in his mouth and his hands at work pulling his shirt up were working wonders on a certain nether region of his body. Peter arched into the mattress while Mike's hands explored under his shirt. Mike massaged his nipples and Peter ground harder into the mattress. He moved himself more on top of Mike, putting his left hand under his shoulder blade. Mike took the opportunity to push Peter's shirt up even more, to run his fingers in races around Peter's spine.

Peter could have kissed Mike that way forever. He felt drugged by the power of his kiss, by the desire he felt behind it. But then Mike was pushing him up, keeping their lips in contact but fumbling his hands at Peter's shirt buttons. Peter helped him and soon had his own eight-button shirt off, thrown carelessly over the side of the bed.

Peter gave a little moan of desire as their lips parted and reconnected. Mike pushed into him and this sent the two toppling off the side of the narrow bed and onto Peter's discarded shirt.

"Mike!" Peter complained, glad that his knees had remained away from any important areas, and vice-versa.

Mike grinned gleefully on top of him, not minding the interruption, and kissed Peter's abdomen all over, making his way down to the pants. He kissed Peter's erection through his pants and, as Peter gasped and panted, lay himself back down on top of Peter. He attacked his mouth with his own and several minutes passed as the two tongues warred and Peter worked Mike's shirt off the rest of the way, Mike whining when Peter's mouth had to break contact.

Mike pulled Peter up— his foot slipped on his own shirt— he laughed— and fell back onto the bed, taking Peter with him. Peter pulled Mike back on top of him, spreading his knees so their pelvises could grind together. Peter panted at Mike's hard, insistent thrusts and his kisses and nips to his jawline.

"Oh...oh Mike! Please, no more, you're going to..." Peter moaned deeply and Mike suddenly stopped his grinding.

"Oh god, why'd you stop?" Peter asked.

"Because you told me to. I didn't want you to finish _too_ early. Did you?" he said.

"No, but I was so close. _So close_," he breathed, arching his neck back to regain his breath.

"I better get off you then," Mike said reluctantly.

"No, you'd better get me off, is what you'd better do," Peter said, as Mike sat up. Peter sat up as well, after a moment.

"Ah, but not too soon." Mike breathed in deeply, his own heart racing from the excitement.

"Yeah, I think if you made me cum right now, I wouldn't recover for a week," Peter declared seriously.

"You're funny. But I know what you mean," he said.

The two sat for a moment, just breathing. Then, seeming to realize that they were no longer touching, Mike made eye contact with Peter in the dark and Peter threw himself back onto him. Peter kissed him roughly, raking his fingers through his coarse black hair. He rubbed fiercely down Mike's sides, not able to get enough of his skin.

Mike kissed him back fervently, pinching his nipples, at which Peter groaned. Mike kissed him and kissed him, kneading every inch of his chest and stomach, needing to know everything that turned Peter on. Soon, Peter was panting again, and a surge of adrenaline shot through Mike when Peter moaned in his ear,

"Just do me right now, Mike, I don't care. Please, I'll do anything you want," his voice husky with desire.

"Peter..." Mike kissed his mouth. "Peter." Mike sucked on his lip, then sucked on his ear lobe. "We're going to do it, right now. Come 'ere," Mike breathed.

He pulled Peter onto his lap and reconnected their lips. Mike's hands roamed over his body, over his chest, stomach, sides, ass; down inside his pants.

"Take them off," he growled.

The thrill of pleasure Mike's voice produced surged all throughout Peter's body, concentrating in his rock-hard member. He quickly stood and complied, shoving the pants and briefs together off his hips and yanking the tapered ends of his pants off his ankles.

Mike watched his penis bounce and sway as he did so and immediately pulled Peter so his penis was level with his mouth. Peter was circumcised and Mike sucked the glan into his mouth, which was red and dripping with precum.

"Mike! I don't have a condom on!" Peter gasped.

Mike didn't use condoms for blow jobs, he didn't see the point, but for Peter he quickly leaned back and rummaged through a drawer beside the bed and pulled out a handful of condoms he found in a box of Davy's. He ripped one open carelessly and unrolled it onto Peter's twitching member. As much as he liked the feel of Peter's bare flesh in his mouth, he didn't want to delay by asking him what the deal was with the condom. Somehow Mike had expected something strange like that coming from Peter anyway.

Peter was gaping with lust at Mike and gasped as he took his whole member in his mouth. Peter was an average length and width but even so he was impressed with Mike's boldness at swallowing him whole.

Peter felt the head of his member hit the back of Mike's throat, but instead of gagging, Mike's throat seemed to contract and allowed Peter's glan to enter, squeezing it. Peter bowled over at this, placing his hands on top of Mike's head. He gave an involuntary thrust into Mike's throat. Mike's amazing throat accepted more of his member and then Mike's lips were right at its base. Mike's entire mouth, then, seemed to contract around Peter's member and then loosened, and then did it again, and then loosened.

"Mike...Mike...Mike..." was all Peter could manage. He was trying to tell him that he wasn't going to last much longer with this kind of attention, but Mike seemed to understand. He gave Peter's member a hard suck and a press with the flat of his tongue before sucking his way off him, leaving with a pop at the end.

Peter was shaking. He had never felt so intensely aroused in his life as he did at that moment. He stood with his hands fidgeting unconsciously on Mike's head, trying to control his breathing.

Mike was suddenly standing, right in front of Peter, undoing his own pants. Peter was suddenly glad he hadn't cum yet; he had to see Mike's penis. If he came at the sight of it, then so be it, but he had never wanted to see another man's penis so badly in his entire life.

Mike was pushing his tight, tan pants off his narrow hips, revealing dark green plaid boxers. A dark stain of precum lay near the waistband. Peter could see it, even in the dark. Mike hastily pushed his boxers down and his member popped out, fully hard and throbbing. Peter heard a throaty sigh. Mike stepped out of his boxers and Peter recovered enough to pump his shaft while looking at Mike.

Mike was slightly bigger than him, and also circumcised. The tip of his red penis leaked precum and Peter couldn't resist running a finger on his member's underside, along the ridge. Mike grunted and grabbed his wrist.

"Peter, not right now..."

The two stood for a moment, Peter with his hand still around his own shaft, looking at Mike's; Mike looking at Peter's but not touching himself.

"Peter, I need you right now. I can't wait any longer." Mike's voice was thick with need; Peter, although hesitant about his skills, lowered himself to his knees.

"No, no...get over here, on the bed... No, wait, let me."

And then Mike knelt on his hands and knees on his bed, grabbing Peter by the wrist and dragging him closer.

"Mike, what are you doing? No, not right now..." Peter began apprehensively. "I could just use my mouth. I know I've never done it before, but this..."

"Peter, please, I want for you to be inside me. I need to be filled up. _Please_. I know you're close, just stick it in and pump once or twice and that will do me and you."

"But Mike, what about...what about...poop?" Peter whispered.

"Oh Peter!" Mike began impatiently, but immediately changed his tone. "That won't happen. It hardly ever does. I'm clean. Just...just go get that lube from Davy's drawer and do _something_."

"Okay." Deep breath. "Okay. But don't blame me if I mess it up—"

"You _won't—_"

"And I don't want to hurt you, but I might need to go fast to finish. Is that all right?"

Mike set his butt down on the bed to look at Peter. "Yes, that sounds wonderful. You won't hurt me, I've done this before. Just lube up and...work it in. It should be easy."

"I'm not that small!"

"That's not what I meant— at all! Peter, I'm just saying, I've _done this before_, so it should be easy. You have a very nice size."

Peter smiled a little. "Thanks. But you're bigger."

"Just a little. It's not important. You're great."

Peter could tell Mike was trying to be nice, considerate, but as the other man was fondling his member while they talked and looked as if he were in pain, Peter knew that he was going to have to do something about his condition as quickly as possible. Peter didn't understand Mike's need to be _filled up_, as he'd never felt that need himself, but if that's what he wanted, that's what he would do.

"Okay." Peter grabbed the lube out of Davy's drawer and applied a generous amount. "Is that enough?"

"Yes," Mike said, and flipped himself back onto his hands and knees.

Peter knelt tentatively behind him and placed his hands on his butt cheeks. Really, this was how he wanted it? Okay. He spread the cheeks, considering, for a moment, how the sensations would feel different than those he felt with a woman, and then pushed the head of his penis against Mike's sphincter. The ring of muscle flexed and Peter figured that was a good thing. Then he heard Mike's whispered _please_, and he truly pushed forward.

He had only entered with the head of his penis and he didn't know what to think. The space was tight, and warm. The lube made it wet. He pressed in a little further as Mike pushed back against him. Okay, here the tightness was starting to feel good. He pushed in the rest of the way and his chest was flush with Mike's back, his hands down on the mattress. He felt Mike trembling beneath him, his arms shaking. Peter kissed his back and thrust once. Mike made a whining noise in his throat and Peter figured what he had done was good.

Mike arched his posterior into Peter, encouraging him to continue. Peter pumped again, Mike shifted a little.

"Down, Peter, down...angle down," Mike begged. Peter pressed his chest into Mike's back, placed his hands right behind Mike's, and raised his own butt in the air a little more to do as he asked. He hoped he was doing it right, but was distracted because he was a little surprised at how intimate this position felt to him. He hadn't expected that.

"Peter, move, please move!" Mike said desperately. He was about to cum and he didn't want to without Peter moving inside him.

At Mike's voice Peter regained his senses and pumped into him, and again, and again.

_I'm fucking him_, Peter thought.

_No, making love,_ another little voice said, and he thrust harder. His member twitched and throbbed, seeming to expand even more inside of Mike even though he knew it wasn't possible.

Peter worked at his rhythm. Mike shifted, making incoherent sounds, making sure Peter got into him as deeply as possible. Peter knew he had to be close, so close, but was holding off for him.

Peter picked up his pace, rocking against Mike. The bed started to creak, and he thrust hard, feeling the beginning of his orgasm. He vaguely hoped the angle was good for Mike because it was good for him, but his mind was becoming muddled as he climbed toward his peak and he couldn't quite focus.

Mike was thrusting back against him, making sounds, some of them words, some of which Peter could make out.

"Oh god...oh god. Oh! _Please_. Right...right... Theeere. Oh god. Oh my god. Right there. Right there. _Peter_."

Peter gave a hard thrust at the sound of his name, pulled mostly out, gave another hard thrust, and then he could feel Mike cumming, his whole body shaking, words pouring out of his mouth, now completely incoherent.

Peter came too, in a flash thinking of his seed pouring deep into Mike's bowels— then remembering he was wearing a condom— remembering that Mike wasn't— the bed— And all thoughts were obliterated, he was still thrusting hard, even as he came, Mike was moaning and collapsing onto his forearms, Peter was pretty sure he was going to pass out...

Peter became aware that he was laying on top of Mike, his penis still inside him. Mike's back was rising and falling rapidly beneath him. Peter felt too good to move, but a thought came to him that Mike might need to breath, so he rolled off him and laid panting on his back on the narrow bed.

After a minute Peter rolled his condom off and thrust it weakly in the direction of the trash can, not really caring if it made it or not. Mike raised his head and scooted over weakly to lay it on Peter's chest. His chin dug into Peter's pectoral muscle but Peter didn't care.

Neither one spoke for quite a while.

Finally, when both had regained their breath, Mike raised himself to a sitting position, looked around, and then decided to clean the cum off himself with the blanket he had ejaculated on. Peter watched him but did not speak. He did not trust his voice to sound manly enough yet.

After some time that probably wasn't as long as it felt, Peter muttered, "That was good."

"Yes," Mike murmured, and leaned over and kissed him. Peter opened his mouth easily and let Mike probe around, too limp to do much else.

Mike seemed to be recovering more quickly, however. After thoroughly kissing Peter, he got up and walked over to Peter's bed and gathered their clothes. Once he'd collected all items, flicked on the night light in the wall, and thrown away Peter's condom, he sat back down on the bed.

"You'd better get up now," he said, sounding somewhat amused, as Peter still laid spread-eagled on his back. Mike surveyed his body openly. "Are you always this relaxed after sex?"

"Yes. But not _this_ relaxed, I don't think. I feel like a jellyfish... You seem relaxed too," he said, flopping his head to look at Mike.

"Oh yes, I am much less tense than I was before. Thank you," he said, stooping to kiss him.

"Oh, no problem, my pleasure. My pleasure..." he murmured, looking at the ceiling.

"Peter, do get up. I need to get this blanket," Mike said after a bit, although he still had his eyes on Peter's body.

"Oh, right, okay." Peter raised himself onto his elbows. He sighed and pulled himself off the bed. Mike handed him their pile of clothes and Peter started pulling on his briefs as Mike wadded up the blanket.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why are you putting your briefs on?"

"Um, I don't know, I just thought I should..."

"Don't you want to take a shower?"

Peter paused. "Yeah, that would be good actually."

"You wanna shower together?" Mike grinned.

_Oh_, so that's why he was asking.

"What if Davy or Micky come back?"

"They won't. They're probably sleeping off sex right now."

Mike grinned more broadly.

"Mike... Mike!" Peter growled, grinning now too, playing along. He pulled Mike by his wrist toward the door. "You're absolutely dirty!"

"Me?" Mike stumbled along behind him, out the door, grinning maniacally. "_You're _the one who needs a shower so badly!"

"You know that's not what I meant, you ass!" Peter stopped in the hallway and pulled him in for a kiss. Mike made sure to use his tongue indecently. Then Peter grinned and pulled Mike toward the stairs.

"As I said, absolutely filthy! You need a good soaping!"

"Do I? Which part of my body? Not my mouth, surely?" He tried to peck Peter on the mouth but Peter pushed him away. The two tripped the rest of the way downstairs, laughing and bumping.

"_You_ need to be washed all over! Get in here!" Peter declared, and pulled Mike into the shower after him, not even bothering to close the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I wasn't alive in the seventies so sorry if the nightclub situation sounds really inaccurate. The Internet has surprisingly little information about nightclubs in 1971 Malibu. I know, right? So I did the best I could. Just go with it, and all will be well. Also, review! Thanks! :)


	4. Part Four

**Part Four**

The next four weeks Peter and Mike filled with clandestine love-making, in between which they played gigs, hung out with Micky and Davy, went clubbing, ate, showered, slept, and watched _The Partridge Family_.

Mike made sure to make time to tell Peter how he felt, as their first time together was so rushed and intense he had never gotten the chance. Peter told him he loved him too and a fantastic session of love-making proceeded that statement.

Micky and Davy noticed something amiss with Peter and Mike, like how often they were separated— together and alone— from the two of them. But the boys decided to ignore these strange occurrences and hoped they would settle themselves out.

But after a while it became harder and harder to ignore the fact that Peter and Mike were spending more and more time alone together, and being less and less careful about concealing it. (To be fair, Peter and Mike really did try. Their problem was that they were often too eager to be together and therefore more careless about taking precautions.) Micky and Davy really didn't want to ask Peter or Mike about their situation, fearing the truth, but one evening Micky was forced to ask about it because of one very simple act on Mike's part.

It was a Friday evening and the boys were gathered around the television set for the latest episode of _The Partridge Family_. This show was all four's guilty pleasure; they discussed it with no one but themselves.

About halfway through the episode Mike absently began stroking Peter's hand. He started with the back and then slid under to the palm. This was a habit he had fallen into during the past month, one which he had always reserved for the post-coital haze when he and Peter lay tangled in the sheets. Somewhere along the way he had admitted to Peter that he really liked touching his hands for no other reason than just to feel them, and Peter admittedly loved it.

But now Peter tensed and looked sideways at Mike anxiously, wondering if he realized what he was doing, right in the view of the other two. Micky would have most likely not noticed at all and Mike would have had time to stop if Peter hadn't gotten completely distracted from the show, causing Micky to be distracted and look what was the matter.

What he saw confused him: Peter was desperately although covertly trying to move Mike's hand away, and, as Micky watched, Mike seemed to become aware of what he was doing and quickly withdrew his hand. But it was too late: Several things he had suspected for a long time had clicked to place in Micky's mind while the exchange had happened.

Why was Peter so desperate for Mike to stop? If it was just an accident and they were simply friends, he would have yanked his hand away and smacked Mike on the shoulder. This would have caused much less disturbance than Peter's suddenly nervous demeanor.

But, Micky postulated, what if he was simply uncomfortable with another man fondling his hand, and didn't want the other two to see? What shame was there in covertly trying to slip away? Why did he, as well as Mike, look so guilty, like they'd just shared a big secret?

Micky had to know. He had forgotten about _The Partridge Family_ from the moment he had seen their hands together, and therefore said, before the commercial break,

"Is there something you guys want to tell us?"

Somehow it seemed the most natural question in the world for him to ask, like it had been waiting to be asked for some time now.

"W-what?" Mike stammered, flicking his eyes nervously, knowing Micky had seen. He and Peter weren't paying attention to the program either anymore.

It was at this point that Davy was finally distracted, with an irritable look, from his television, and he looked at the other three.

"Your hands," Micky said quietly. "Your hands." It was the only thing he could think of to say.

"What about them?" Peter asked, looking innocently down at his own.

Micky could not tell if he were feigning or not.

"Your hands, you were...holding hands, just a moment ago. I looked over and you were trying to get him to stop..._fondling_ you, Peter. I saw it."

"So?" Mike said, attempting bravado. "It was an accident. I didn't realize I was doing it."

_Well that's believable_, thought Micky sarcastically.

"Micky, what are you going on about?" Davy broke in. "We're missing the show. Ah— and look, it's on commercial now." He flopped on the couch huffily.

"Okay, sure, I can believe it was an accident," Micky continued as if he had not heard Davy. "But I want to know."

"Know what?" Peter said quickly.

Micky paused, not quite sure himself. "I want to know how long it's been."

"How long what's been? What are you talking about?" Mike asked.

Micky could tell that Mike was trying to pass him off as the crazy one, but it wasn't going to work.

"I want to know how long you two have been in a relationship."

Davy sat up and looked quizzically at Micky.

"Wait, hang on a second Mick—"

"Davy, don't you see it? It's what we've been talking about, right before our eyes!"

"_What's_ right before our eyes?"

"They were, I don't know, fanangling with their hands or something. Not on purpose, I can believe you on that I guess, but it happened. I know what I saw," he said, almost defensively. "I want the truth from you guys."

Peter and Mike looked panic-stricken, like cornered rabbits. Mike stood abruptly from the couch and Peter followed him. But Micky stood just as quickly.

"No!" he said, suddenly angry. "You are not going to just walk away from this! I've— we've suspected for weeks and we deserve to know! This could affect the whole band!"

"Micky!" Davy said loudly. "Stop! Don't— don't do that to them! Don't make them feel ashamed, like they _have _to tell us! It shouldn't be like this!"

"_What_ shouldn't be like this? Them telling us that they're— they're _gay_? Why can't they tell us? We're supposed to be friends, aren't we?"

Peter and Mike had carefully walked around Micky while he addressed Davy and now stood behind the couch.

"Micky—" Mike cut in. He was quelled by a look from him.

"Mike, honestly, I'm not going to hate you. I'm not going to _slur_ you. I'm weirded out, yes," Micky clarified, "but you _are_ my friends. That's important. And if— if you guys are together, like that, I don't want that to be a deal breaker for this band. Or for our friendship."

Micky's anger seemed to have run out. He stood looking at Peter and Mike and they at him. Davy fidgeted on the other side of the couch. No one spoke for a little while.

Then Mike looked at Peter and Peter looked back at him, conflicted and worried.

"We should tell them," Mike said.

"Yeah— yeah, I think they already know," Peter said uncertainly.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"No— hell no!"

"Okay." Deep breath. He took Peter's hand. "Davy, Micky: Peter and I are together. Romantically. We...are also having sex—" Peter cringed a little, "and we want to stay together, and do more of the same. We want to stay together romantically and as a band. I hope that doesn't cause any trouble."

Mike held his breath for the answer. Micky and Davy looked at each other, and the look was one of _Oh shit_ and _Oh yeah, we should've known_, at the same time.

"Okay, thank you," Micky said. "Davy..."

And seemingly on cue the two of them marched up the spiral staircase and to the bedroom, closing the door behind themselves.

"Is that a good thing?" queried Peter, and Mike shrugged.

"I just hope it's not a bad thing."

The two sat down on the couch, and it wasn't until almost half of the next show was over that Micky and Davy decided to come down from the bedroom.

Mike quickly flicked the TV off and he and Peter stood. Peter didn't grasp Mike's hand, even though he wanted to, because he was afraid it would offend Micky or Davy.

"It's okay, you guys," Micky said, and smiled. "Calm down. Me and Davy are...fine with it. At least, we're trying to be, it's a bit weird for us, you know. Uncharted territory. But...we don't want to ditch you guys, and we hope you don't want to ditch us either. Because as far as we're concerned, the band can stay together. Just...just let us adjust, okay?" Now Micky seemed to be pleading. "No making out in front of us, or anything, okay?"

"No, Micky, we wouldn't do that," Peter quipped.

"I'm glad you understand," Mike said, still a little tensely.

It was quiet for a moment.

"What happened on _The Partridge Family_?" Micky asked.

"Oh, Keith was trying to be a good influence on Danny and Laurie and all of them, but went kinda nuts. Nothing major," Peter supplied.

"What kind of nuts?"

"He got obsessive about their good behavior."

"Wait— wait!" Davy said suddenly. "I just have to ask. I— Is it true? Do guys—? Do they do it— _do they do it up the butt_?" Davy stammered.

Mike could not help but burst out laughing. The look on Davy's face was priceless. Peter didn't quite see what was so funny; he instead stood with a pinched look on his face.

"Oh my god— oh my god!" Mike sputtered, doubled over. "Yes, yes it's true! Everything you hear about gay men is true! Everything! —Okay, that was a bit of an overstatement, but yes, that part is true!"

He stood, trying to catch his breath. Davy looked stricken.

"_What_?" Mike exclaimed. "It's not that bad! Oh my god, that look on your face!" He began to laugh again.

"But...but...what about poop?" Davy whispered.

Mike took one look at him and started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. He sat on the couch, his sides aching, Davy saying, "What? What? It's a valid question!" and Peter pounding him on the back when he started to choke on his own spit. Peter was chuckling too, remembering the same thing Mike was, but neither one of them would answer Micky or Davy's questions, and never would, about why that question was so funny.

Finally, when everything was calmed down, the four Monkees crowded onto the couch and sat semi-comfortably. Davy sat on the arm of the couch, but as he was the smallest this didn't help much, and Micky was crowded against one arm while Mike, with Peter right next to him, was crowded against the other. Peter tried not to sit too close to Micky, as he knew that would make him uncomfortable.

After a moment Micky brought up one of the gigs they were playing the next day and the four talked somewhat comfortably about that for a while, and once again discussed how they were going to get from one gig to the other on time. Then Davy said,

"Hey, since you guys are together, we should probably get a two-bedroom flat, or do something about the situation here. I don't think Micky and I can take your 'covert' sneaking up to the bedroom anymore."

Peter blushed, and Mike blushed a little too, and they murmured their agreement.

"Well, we could always clear out the downstairs bedroom again... You guys could take it, or whatever you want," Micky suggested. The four looked at each other. The reason Davy and Peter had moved upstairs in the first place the second year the group was living together was so they could have someplace to store their band equipment besides the living room. As inconvenient as four men crammed in one room was, tripping over band equipment in the living room was even more inconvenient.

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna work," Mike stated casually. The other three seemed to agree, as they relaxed, and soon the four were talking of plans to move into a bigger apartment. (For some reason it did not occur to them to get separate apartments...) All awkwardness was lost in the conversation.

Finally, as the conversation wound down, Davy suggested they all go to bed. Micky got uncomfortable for a second, tried to cover it up, and Mike just looked at Peter and rolled his eyes.

"Guys, we're not going to be staring at you while you get undressed or anything," Mike said.

"Um, if it's all the same, could I...change a little more privately for a while?" Micky asked nervously.

Mike was slightly hurt, as he and Micky used to be roommates when only the two of them lived upstairs, but he also understood. He couldn't expect everything at once; maybe Micky would never feel that comfortable undressing in front of him again, and he realized that was okay with him. He felt somewhat the same way when Peter watched him dress or undress, although it was a considerably more pleasant feeling for him.

"Well, it's all right with me if you guys look," Davy said cheerily. He stood up and bounded for the steps. "I know I'm irresistible." He grinned cheekily at them, and even had the audacity to wink.

Peter just looked at him, thinking him crazy, but Mike's stomach gave a little flip as he thought of Davy undressing. He had always been attracted to Davy's chest; but it mattered not: Davy was only a friend and would always be only a friend. He would never tell Davy about his attraction to his chest because there was no need and it would only complicate things.

Instead Mike smiled. "Thank you, Davy, but I think I will have somebody else to look at from now on."

Peter smiled and ducked his head.

"Your loss," said Davy, and started up the stairs. "You know," he said suddenly, turning toward them seriously. "If you guys have babies I think they'll have Mike's hair. And Peter's nose. That would be a cute baby. Yeah? Hmm," he ended thoughtfully and bounded up the stairs.

"Um...?" Micky said. "He does realize two men can't have babies, right?"

"Uh...no? I don't know? He was joking, wasn't he? Wasn't he?" Mike asked, looking at Peter.

"Well, as the one who usually makes all the stupid remarks around here," Peter said authoritatively, "I don't think he was."

"Oh no..." Micky said, and darted off the couch after Davy.

"We'd better go too, Peter, I don't think Davy can handle the news on his own."

"Good thinking. If _I_ know that two men can't have babies, how much must Davy think they _can_?"

The two stared at each other for a moment, then flew across the room to the stairs. This was definitely a crisis for the four Monkees to sort out together.

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks for reading! And do review, especially if you haven't already. Also, watch _The Partridge Family_, as it's awesome. :)


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